Idea Asylum
by Solvdrage
Summary: Warning: posted chapters may be escaped plot bunnies! A collection of RWBY fic ideas, hypothetical crossovers, and oneshots written by Solvdrage and WarrenDSherman. Cover art by WarrenDSherman!
1. Remnants of a Wasteland

**Author:** WarrenDSherman

 **Remnants of a Wasteland**

 **Chapter 1 : Ain't that a kick in the head?**

 **Disclaimer : I don't own RWBY or Fallout New Vegas. They belong to their respective creators.**

* * *

War.

War never changes.

Years ago, it was a great war that left our world on the perilous precipice where it now stands. The day the nuclear bombs fell, the world as we knew it, ceased to be. All that is left now is a remnant of what it once was. Incomplete. Broken.

However, humanity's resilience pulled through again, and they survived the cataclysm inside underground bunkers called 'Vaults'

As years, even centuries, passed, one by one they began to leave their shelters to brave the unforgiving world outside.

Like always, humanity began to thrive once more, forming tribes and building settlements, trying to survive the hostile world that they found themselves in. As time passed, what once had been the old world southwest came to be united under the flag of the two-headed bear.

New California Republic, the NCR.

A tribe dedicated to the old world values of democracy and the rule of law. Under its flag, there was peace, and life thrived. For a while, humanity flourished like a light shining in the darkness...but soon, the light flickered and sputtered, and darkness rushed in to consume it.

This darkness didn't rush in from outside, though there was a lot of it, to be sure. No, this darkness came from within men's hearts. Like the darkest part of a lamp is under it, the heart of the Bear was rotten. Short-sighted greed and want led to an increasing corruption within this new republic and before this fledgling nation could put down roots, there arose anarchy : Fiends and Raiders causing havoc within the borders of the republic.

As the NCR declined, another power arose in the lands east of the Great River, united under a different flag. A golden bull, rampant in a field of red. This was the Caesar's Legion, a slave army created by the unforgiving conquest of 86 tribes. Led by their ruthless and cruel overlord, they used brutal tactics to wrest order from the anarchy. Yet, their spartan and strict rule won them no admirers, and the legionnaires were detested by all those who preferred liberty and personal freedom, and they faced bitter resistance wherever they went. Many tribes preferred to die out in combat against the legion, than serve within it's ranks.

Thus, despite all the troubles that plagued them, the two powers continued to grow and expand. Two diametrically opposing aspects of how 'civilization' should be.

They existed in an uneasy ceasefire, both coveting but neither desiring to fire the first shot in an uncertain war.

This all changed when the Great Dam was discovered by the NCR scouts.

After this discovery, it was not long before the Legion's frumentarii...the legion's elite scouts, followed the trail and saw the mighty Dam for themselves. It represented power. It represented control. A relic of the old world, a defiant symbol that still stood strong, it captured Caesar's imagination like little else, and he was determined to do anything to have it within his grasp. The crown jewel in his desire for conquest. In earnest, he began amassing an army to have the dam for himself. Recruits were trained, new weapons and armor was forged and supplies were gathered by the forced labor of slaves. Leading them all was the Malpais Legate. Joshua Graham. A name as feared as Caesar.

It sent out a simple message : "Bequeath unto Caesar, that which is Caesar's"

Running out of options and threatened with the possibility of losing the newly-found valuable resource, the NCR came into an agreement with the elusive Mr House of the New Vegas strip.

No one really knew who the man was. He communicated solely through Securitrons, robotic guardians of the City of Vice.

What he was, was ruthlessly effective.

Sensing an opportunity, he forcibly "civilized" the tribes inhabiting the neighborhood. Cannibals, Criminals, Raiders and Vault Dwellers alike. He brought them into the Strip, gave them casinos to run and with the NCR's manpower, brought the Strip back to life.

So it was, that once more lights shone brightly in the deserted wasteland, a defiant beacon.

The Legion was not to be denied for long. Before long, the massive army that Caesar had spent time to build painstakingly, amassed at the other side of the river and made their own bid for the edifice. The conflict that ensued was called the Battle for Hoover Dam.

At the battle, the Legionaries were soundly routed by the NCR, their simple tactics paling in comparison to the clever stratagems deployed by Chief James Ironwood, leader of the Rangers. The massive casualties that the Legion suffered forced them to retreat. Instead of leaving outright, they established a camp across the river. So they remained, a diminished but ever-present threat over NCR's control of the Mojave.

* * *

The same year that the Dam was successfully defended, a rather unremarkable event occurred : a young girl came of age and was given a choice. To join the NCR or to see the world.

It was something of a family tradition, from what she could tell. The same choice had been given to her father by his parents, and a couple of years ago, her uncle had given the same choice to her older sister, who had decided to join the NCR as a new recruit, hoping to become someone important in the army, like her uncle and her father.

The young girl however held no such desires. Even as a child, she had chafed under the strict life that she had led. Understandable, when your whole family is filled with high-ranked soldiers under the NCR.

She didn't want to become another grunt. What she wanted, was to set off on a wild journey, to roam the wild lands and go on awe-inspiring adventures that would become stuff of legends.

Like the famous vault dweller, who had founded Arroyo half a century ago, she too wished to become a story that was whispered gleefully by soldiers and civilians alike, and she had said as much to her uncle...who had merely laughed and pointed her to the Mojave Express.

To become a courier.

The young girl, now a courier, got her wish...to an extent. She saw the world and roamed far and free, and even had many adventures and scrapes and shootouts, but as it turned out, they were par for course for those who lived outside the insulated life that she had led. Raiders and Fiends were commonplace and a constant danger to caravans, as were creatures like Bloatflies, Cazadores and Deathclaws.

As time passed, she grew more efficient and more deadly with her weapons, gaining an expertise in long-distance marksmanship, and her small and lithe figure assisted her in traversing without being detected and busting the amateurish ambushes planned by the numerous criminals. She might not be a soldier herself, but she was raised as one. She was well versed in ambushes and trickery.

Once, after helping to defend a caravan against a party of the dangerous Powder Gangers, the grateful merchant had given her his prized possession, his old Vault 21 Pipboy. Since then, the courier had learned to use the nifty gadget and had found it's numerous functions extremely useful, most notably the Vault Tec Assistance System, VATS as it was called. She didn't know exactly how it functioned, likely something neuro-spatial or some other such big words...all she knew was that she seemed to go faster and react quicker and aim better whenever she activated it. It was incredibly addicting, but she had been warned of the dangers of overusing it, once she had shown it off to her family.

She had heard of the schizophrenic Nightkin who had gone crazy by overusing Stealth Boys. She was not eager to become a drooling, crazed mess this young. So she listened.

For four long years, the Courier had traversed the Mojave, making friends and occasionally visiting her sister at her outpost, who smothered her with her overbearing affection. She thought that she had seen all that the desert had to offer. She was wrong. For four long years, she had delivered packages for the Mojave Express to far-flung locations, even going as far as New Cannan and Hopeville and the end reaches of the Long 15. This time however, the delivery was taking a turn for the worse.

* * *

The courier bit back a wince as she felt the 10mm bullet barely graze her neck. Gasping, she threw herself on the ground and scrambled for cover. She wasn't happy about this situation. Not one bit.

Not since her rookie days had she been caught so flat-footed. Trying to take a gauge for the situation, she dared to take a quick peek out from her cover, and ducked immediately to escape the spray of submachine gun fire. Dangerous, for someone used to taking in details quickly and efficiently, that one glance had been enough.

The tell-tale black leather, the crude plate armor and the penchant for submachine guns, it was obvious that the ones who ambushed her were the Great Khans, a raider gang who operated chem labs. They usually kept to themselves, conducting their business quietly, unless provoked. They were dangerous, tenacious and entirely unexpected foes and to make matters worse, there were at least six of them.

At these close quarters, her sniper rifle would do her no good, nor would she be able to approach them close enough to use her machete successfully. It was time for something more compact and accurate.

The Courier took off her backpack and tucked it securely against the rock where she had been taking cover. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to steady herself and ignore the maddening noise of the constant gunfire. Once she felt calm enough, she drew her hunting revolver from the hip holster and went to work.

The VATS was instrumental in her initial foray. Rolling out of her cover, she activated the VATS system and as the neurological system activated, she seemed to speed up. Unflinchingly, she took a quick aim at the Great Khan warrior hiding at a cliff top and was taking pot-shots at her with her hunting rifle. A single fire of the revolver sent a .45 round through the Great Khan's heart, silencing her forever. With that she completed her roll, bringing her to rest against another large rock.

Pleased at the success of her maneuver, she tried to repeat this little trick but was thwarted by the answering bursts of fire from the remaining Great Khans.  
By this time, her adversaries had advanced on her position. A great big brute of a man rounded the cover and came face to face with her. Both were caught by surprise but the courier responded more quickly. She grabbed the man by his shoulders and kicked his legs out from under him, and threw him down flat on his back in a classic takedown. A swift kick to his windpipe ensured that he soon fell unconscious, either dead or dying.  
There were four more enemies remaining , who were enraged by the deaths of their friends and the sound of their yelling and cursing was almost as loud as the sounds of the battle.

As the courier peeked out of cover once more, she saw an anomaly that she hadn't spotted before. A well-dressed man in a white suit and a bowler hat who was hanging back, looking over at the skirmish with apathy, smoking his cigar without a care in the world.

This was evidently the man who had ordered this little scuffle, but he was incongruous in his finery, clearly not belonging to the Khans. What then was his reason for instigating this and why were the Great Khans, a tribe known for their fierce independence, following his orders?

These were all good questions, but unfortunately, the courier had no time to ponder upon the answers.

With a combination of skill and luck, the courier managed to injure and put down two more of the Khans and began to feel a sliver of hope that she might just survive the day and live to fight on. That hope was however dashed by a loud explosion a few feet behind her which threw her against the rock with a crushing force.

A concussive grenade.

The courier cradled her injured arm, and tried to shake away the effects of the close-range explosion, before blinking in surprise as a shadow loomed over her. She barely had the time to take in a slight waif of a woman grinning down at her, who raised a foot and brought it down on her head, knocking her out.

* * *

As the courier came to, she found that she was alive. That was a shocker in and by itself. While the Khans did have a twisted code of honor about killing unarmed opponents, the ambush had led her to believe that they were hungry for her blood.  
Right now, two of the said Khans were busily digging a pit. She could see them from the limited range of vision as she lay on the ground. She tried to stir and failed, idly noting that her hands and legs were bound with thick cords of rope.

She cleared her throat, trying to get the attention of her captors, when a pair of shiny black shoes entered her field of vision.

"Look who's waking up already. Hello there Little Red." The oily, urbane voice spoke in cultured tones. "Oh, this is no good. I cannot talk while she is prone on the ground like that. You two, get her up and let her kneel. I want to talk to her."

The Great Khans walked up , grumbling and muttering upon themselves, sparing her a strange look - a mix of sympathy and respect. The aforementioned two walked behind her and leaned in close, almost making her gag with the stink of chems and unwashed leathers, and hauled her up roughly to her feet.

This time, the courier got a good look at the man who was responsible for her impending demise. He was clean shaven and smartly dressed in pristine white finery. His red hair, which looked almost orange in the dying light, was perfectly combed and tucked under a pretentious bowler hat. He clasped his cigar aristocratically in his fingers and smoked it still as he sneered down at her.

"Ah, now we meet at last, dear courier. You have no idea how long I have waited for your arrival at this little hick-town. Now Now, I know what you might be thinking...How did I manage to get the drop on you...it's simple really, money talks, Little Red. If you have enough of that to throw around, all information is ultimately bought and sold for. As for how we managed to knock you out, you have my associate here to thank for that." He gestured to the waifish woman standing by his side, who bowed mockingly. She was a strange one too, her long hair dyed in two different colors, while her eyes that stared out cruelly at the courier had different colored pupils.

"Why am I even bothering to tell you this, you may wonder? Well, that is because soon, you will cease to exist...which means you will cease to matter. I have got what I came for Little Red." He leaned down, leering at her grabbing her cheeks in his gloved hand, tilting her face to get a better look at her even as she struggled to squirm away from his grip. "Though it seems such a shame to kill a pretty young thing like yourself. You would have fetched a good price if I had sold you to the Omertas of Gomorrah...or maybe even kept you for myself. Oh well." He sighed theatrically and let go of her, pulling himself up to his full height.

A burly Khan, clearly the leader of the surviving lot, urged her captor to get it over with, to kill her quickly. The other tribesman was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was out, keeping watch. On the other side of him, the slight looking girl gazed down impassively, her heterochromatic eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

Her captor sneered down at his Great Khan lackey, "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a two-bit thug, you understand ? I owe it to her to have some closure, to have some answers over why she was killed." Then he turned his cold gaze down to her, "As for you , Little Red...it's not personal, I want you to know that. You were just the wrong person with the wrong thing." He pulled out a silver chip from his coat pocket, her intended delivery. "This. Such a little thing to die over, it might seem to you, but oh, it is dear."

He drew his pistol out, leveling it at her head. Even for one who had wielded them all her life, the barrel of the gun seemed impossibly large as it bore down at her, "From where you are standing...oh what am I saying, kneeling...this must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck." He cocked the gun, his hand at the trigger, ready to squeeze and spit out metal death at her. Idly, she noticed the Great Khan lackey looking away, uncomfortable with this execution. The girl on the other hand seemed to positively bounce on the balls of her dainty feet, eager for her blood to be spilled.

Her captor leaned in closer, close enough to smell the cigar smoke on his breath and the stink of ambition on his too-fancy suit. "Truth is, Little Red, this game was rigged from the start."

The trigger pulled, followed by a loud bang, and as darkness took over...Ruby Rose knew no more.

* * *

' _Play the guitar, play it again, my Johnny_

 _Maybe you're cold but you're so warm inside'_

The melodious tune floated in the air from what sounded like a badly tuned radio, crackling and breaking in places. The familiar tune was nostalgic and annoying in equal parts.

' _What if you go, what if you stay, I love you_

 _But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I know'_

So many afternoons, Ruby and her sister, Yang, had spent listening to this song on the rare times that her father was home. Her dad would reminisce about her mom, and tell them stories of her. The song was of special importance to the two, and Ruby had quickly learned that hearing the song play was a good way to make the man nostalgic and liable to talk. The first time she had heard it, she had loved it. That changed after the hundredth time.

There was also the memorable time when her Pip Boy's radio had broken down, and played nothing but "Johnny Guitar" for two months straight. She still tried to repress those terrible days.

' _There was never a man like my Johnny_

 _Like the one they call Johnny Guitar'_

With an exasperated groan, Ruby tried to open her eyes and sit up, only to hiss in pain from her aching head that threatened to split in two.

Her little mishap had attracted someone's attention, as seconds after, someone cried out.

"Hey, little lady, why don't you try to relax for a second ? Let's see what the damage is" the grizzled voice spoke, as Ruby blearily blinked her eyes open.

"When that clunky tincan brought you in, I thought you were a goner...but I guess you were too tough to put down." the unknown speaker continued as Ruby tried to sit up, working her way to consciousness, fighting through the throbbing ache in her head.

"W-where am I? Who are you?" she asked, shading her eyes from the bright light as her vision swam. Her palm was cool and dark against her eyes and she didn't want to move. It hurt. A lot.

"Oh? It's good to hear you speak...that's very encouraging. As for me, I am Doc Mitchell. As for the where...you are in the fine town of Goodsprings."

"I...I r-remember passing through before the...before the ambush. I was shot" She slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth. Probably the effect of chems.

"That's an understatement. You were shot in the head, little lady. It's very surprising that you survived that."

"F-fuck" she muttered emphatically, finally blinking her eyes open, taking in the sights of the makeshift operating room. Dingy, weather-beaten and shabby...like most homes in the Mojave. The floral wallpaper that covered the room was peeling in places, but the place was very neat. There was no mess to speak of, and all the medical instruments were tucked away in a little doctor's bag towards the far end of the room.

With a lethargic swing of her legs, Ruby sat up on the edge of the bed and smiled wanly at Doc Mitchell.

"Well Doc, ain't this a proper kick in the head?"

* * *

 **A/N: Well, this is it. The beginning of the New Vegas and RWBY fusion. Let me know if this is an idea that you guys want to see be continued and have a part two.**

 **Have fun reading!**

 **Character Summaries :**

 **1.** **NCR** : New California Republic, a democratic empire dedicated to old school values and rule of law. It is one of the largest powers in the Wasteland at the time. They have their share of problems, which include anarchy in their trade routes and corruption.

 **2.** **Caesar's Legion** : A slave army owned by the mysterious Caesar. His origins are currently unknown. They have conquered 86 tribes and forcibly brought civilization to the anarchic masses. Wherever the Legion turns it's eyes, death and destruction of way of life soon follows.

 **3\. Great Khans** : A raider tribe styled after the Great Khans of the Mongol Plains of the ancient world. They gained knowledge of medicines and chemicals by insidious means and used it create drugs, and began drug peddling. They have become scarce in the recent years and usually keep to themselves.

 **4\. Powder Gangers** : Escaped convicts from an NCR Prison. They have a penchant for explosives and gunpowder, hence the name, Powder Gangers.

 **5\. Bloatflies** : Mutated Flies. Big, large and ugly. Their sting can cause wooziness.

 **6\. Cazadores** : Mutated wasps. They are relatively new predator of unknown origins. They are more dangerous than the venomous Radscorpions and the Bloatflies.

 **7\. Deathclaws** : One of the most dangerous mutated creatures of the Wasteland, they are strong, agile and dangerous. A pack of Deathstalkers is enough to lay waste to an entire town.

 **8\. Omertas of Gomorrah** : They were once a tribe called the Slither Kin who specialized in treachery and murder and styled themselves after the pre-Great War era gangsters of Las Vegas. After Mr House, the owner of the New Vegas formed an agreement over the Hoover Dam with the NCR, he invited them to settle in the New Vegas Strip where they opened a nightclub called Gomorrah. They oversee most of the prostitution in the Strip.

* * *

 **Solvdrage's Author's Note** : Welcome everyone to a collection of ideas, oneshots, etc. I'll be jointly posting stories with WarrenDSherman. He's the talent behind the coverart for In Vino Veritas and the excellent From Embers to Dust and Invictus (Fate Zero and One Piece). Give his profile a go. Highly, **highly** recommend his fics.

As for my stuff, I'll throw some ideas up here occasionally. Like, say... within a few minutes actually... For all my Naruto followers, good news! I'm about 1/4th of the way through the next chapter of "Misstep in the Right Direction" as of the posting of this chapter.


	2. Dragon Pyrrha and Conscript Jaune

**Author:** Solvdrage

 **Fic:** Untitled High Fantasy/Monster Girl RWBY AU

* * *

The acrid smoke lingered across the nightmare that had once been an ambitious, but ultimately abortive attempt at expanding the Duchy of Coulee of the Kingdom of Vale into the untamed wilderness beyond the Western Shield Mountains. Duke Winchester had inherited his fief from the Vasilias Family after the debacle had not only bankrupted that ancient and princely house, but seen the line end with the death of the former Duke's eldest son. Duke Cardinalis Winchester was a man of no expansionist aims, but was very determined to safeguard his territory.

Duke Cardinalis hadn't lifted a finger when the few Faunus colonies in the mountains had _begged_ for any assistance from the encroaching darkness. They promised double taxes. They offered to have their first-born join the militia. They had been ignored. Hordes of Grimm had washed over them like a tide.

Now, however, Duke Cardinalis had discovered some steel. He had mobilized nearly all of his levies. Hundreds of conscripts had been deployed along with nearly every knight in the Duchy. The Duke may have cared nothing for the Faunus that were overrun by Grimm, but there was a cold unfeeling logic to the decision. Grimm were unthinking abominations. They did not occupy territory and with countable numbers they could be countered by Hunters or an army lead by a skilled commander.

Dragons were a completely different story.

Dragons were intelligent, according to many legends, and routinely occupied territory. Cardinalis arrived at the completely logical conclusion that the Dragon was likely to be a permanent resident in the ruins. The beast would likely view the Duchy as a competitor for resources. Conflict was inevitable.

Jaune Arc, levied swordsman and only son of a minor Branch Family of the prestigious House of Arc, cared nor pondered about these developments. His breathing was labored and only sheer adrenaline kept him moving. Muscles burned and screamed under the literal and metaphysical weight on his shoulders. Jaune's mind miraculously ignored the effort in moving in his simple chain-mail armor and with his family's sword and shield clanging at his hips.

"Cardin, you big bastard. If you die on me after all this, that dragon will be the least of your concerns!" Jaune yelled at the Duke's son and 'commander' of this ill-advised excursion.

"Jaune...stop yelling," the second wounded soldier Jaune was ferrying to safety. There was a very vocal part of Jaune's psyche that was commanding Jaune to drop the pompous asshole on his right shoulder to focus on saving his only real friend in the army. Lie Ren had been the closest thing Jaune Arc had to a brother for as long as either young man could remember.

"I have to keep you awake. I'd rather face that Dragon armed with a wooden spoon than explain to Nora that I let you die," Jaune snapped out a very eloquent counter-argument.

Ren groaned in agreement after a failed attempt to laugh. Jaune actually snarled a bit at the thought. Having a wooden weapon might actually be more effective. Duke Cardinalis in his infinite wisdom had not informed the soldiers, including his own son, that the Dragon was a Bronze-scale. A Dragon's abilities were able to be divined from the color of their scales.

Bronze-scale Dragons had complete mastery of all metals. Jaune had watched as scores of arrows and crossbow bolts had become enthralled by the Dragon's power. The horror of seeing archers cut down by their own arrows would stick with Jaune for a long time.

 _'I see why my Uncle Gallium drank so heavily before the tumors took him,'_ Jaune thought. His own musings were nearly drowned out by the roar of his flying assailant and the thunderous cadence of his own exhausted heart and breathing.

"A bit more!" Jaune screamed as he saw the docks, and more importantly, the waiting barge.

"Hurry!" A soldier screamed from the barge. "That thing is coming back!"

Jaune dug deep, well past the point of his physical peak, and reached the edge of the dock. "I've got the Duke's son and Ren! Catch!"

"You're throwing the Duke's son?" An older officer screeched.

"For fuck's sake!" The low-ranking member of the House of Arc spat. "Catch the guy!"

There was no room for an argument as Jaune unceremoniously tossed Cardin into the nearest collection of able-bodied soldiers.

"This is going to hurt a bit, Ren. You'll live though."

Ren coughed. "Jaune, now is not the time for you being...well..." The statement was interrupted as Lie Ren spat a bit of blood from his mouth. "You. Jaune..."

"Look at it this way," Jaune said with forced humor. "When you get back, Nora will demand she be the one to heal you. Maybe you'll get some alone time to propose."

"Damn it, Jaune!" Ren uttered the first curse word Jaune had ever heard from his black-and-pink haired friend. The Swordsman was far more gentle as he passed Ren down to the barge. Once his friend was secure as possible on the sorry excuse for a boat, Jaune pulled an idiot move.

He cut the ropes mooring the barge to the dock. Jaune Arc ignored the cries of "Jump!" from his comrades and turned back towards the burning remnant of the settlement. Crocea Mors, the ancestral weapon of his particular branch of the House of Arc, was now clasped to his side. It would be folly to wield steel against a Bronze-scale. Jaune was as likely to have the blade torn from his hands and impaled into his back as land a clean blow against his foe.

So, in the place of the ancient and proud sword and shield was the most noble of weapons...

...a very long pointy stick.

"Hey!" Jaune shouted at the Dragon. _"Fetch!"_

If by some unfathomable, likely direct and immediate divine intervention, reason Jaune survived this moronic life choice he knew Nora would love this story. Intellectually, Jaune knew that throwing the stick was as useless as that one time he had asked Gwen Darcy to dance. Still, much like the question to Gwen, Jaune's tossed stick annoyed the Dragon greatly.

Jaune Arc know possessed all of a very powerful, very likely blood-lusted Dragon's attention. That meant the barge was no longer much of a concern. The Dragon proved that sentiment in exceedingly clear terms as it landed a hundred feet in front of the now petrified swordsman.

Swallowing to provide _some_ moisture to his parched throat, Jaune broke free of his stupor. He took a step forward. The dock felt like a mountain in the midst of a rock slide.

"Dragon! I-I am Jaune of the House of Arc! I...well...I challenge you to single combat!"

 _'What in the actual hell am I thinking?'_ Jaune wanted to slap himself, but he wanted to arrive at his inevitable messy death with something somewhat like dignity.

To Jaune's eternal credit, he wasn't pissing himself. The young man was taking limited solace in the fact that he was saving his best friend's life and probably his second-best friend's life as well. Jaune really couldn't imagine Nora living without Ren. Sure, the hammer wielding Town Guard would be _alive_ , but without Ren she sure as hell wouldn't be living. The thought had barely concluded when a wall of hot breath dragged the soldier back to the ruins of the present.

Jaune, master of perception, had somehow lost track of an enormous pissed off creature of immense power. He had promptly found it staring into his eyes. Most rational responses would have been to start screaming in abject horror. Other acceptable responses would have been whimpering, a battle-cry, or evacuating one's bowels. However, Jaune Arc had never been one for convention. The first response to finding himself staring at a Dragon's eyes was _'Huh, they are green.'_

The thought provided a moment of clarity. The human tore his gaze away from the Green-eyed Bronze-scaled Dragon. His relief was noticeable to any creature as he watched the barge disappear into the mists. Steeling himself for death, Jaune stood straight and returned his attention to the Dragon.

"I don't know if you are capable of human speech, but..." Jaune breathed out heavily to calm his nerves. "I'd really appreciate an answer to my challenge...preferably not one that involves just eating me."

Once again, the whole scenario ran headlong into the absurd. A snort escaped from the Dragon's snout. Jaune had to hop forward, which was a very poor decision, as it brought him within arms-length of _the freaking Dragon_. The Dragon's amusement had caused a flare of its power. The nails holding part of the wharf together were pushed clear through the wooden planks and into the river. Jaune heard the splashes as the dock fell apart and into the churning water.

"So...about that completely manly challenge?" Jaune quipped on the verge of hysterics.

A nimbus of raw Aura surrounded the Dragon. The conscript grunted in pain as his eyes were overwhelmed by the energy. Despite being temporarily blinded, Jaune had some sense of what was happening. The heat from...whatever was happening...was now slightly further away. The lone swordsman could no longer feel the Dragon's breath.

Which was nice.

That meant Jaune was far, far less likely to be eaten. Jaune slowly cracked open his eyes as the after-image from the flash subsided. He didn't whoop in relief when the Dragon wasn't visible. If the incredibly powerful Living Engine of Destruction was around, the creature would probably be insulted by Jaune's outburst.

"You are awaiting my answer, are you not?"

The heroic 'proto-martyr' had been thinking there that couldn't be anything that could surprise him like hearing the Dragon speak in a feminine human-esque voice. He had also been _incredibly wrong_. The Dragon was not only speaking in a human-esque voice, _she_ was currently in a human-esque form.

An amused, unexpectedly gentle, giggle escaped the Dragon's lips. Jaune locked eyes with the 'Dragon' and felt his jaw drop. The Dragon had been absolutely terrifying. The Dragon was currently unnervingly, unearthly beautiful. Jaune noticed that The Dragon retained her vibrant green eyes. She still retained some scales, but they appeared almost as jewelry. Bronze scales around the 'woman's' head resembled a fine tiara. Other scales at her neck resembled a large choker necklace.

Jaune's gaze continued to migrate ground-ward, and he was fairly confident he was gaping like a fish. "I see my transformation to a form you are more comfortable with was... _pleasing."_

The form was most certainly pleasing. "Y-Yeah," the solider stammered. The form also lacked any form of clothing. _'Holy shit, is it pleasing!'_

"I will accept your challenge...depending on the answer you provide for _my_ question." The Dragon revealed. "Why did you issue such a challenge to me?"

"I...I needed to stall," Jaune confessed.

His 'foe' began to circle as the predator she truly was. "Out of loyalty to whom?"

"My friend and fellow soldiers." Jaune could feel every muscle in his body tense in a fight-or-flight reaction.

"What of your Duke?" The Dragon continued her interrogation.

"Eh, I'm probably doomed already," Jaune huffed. "He's honestly a bit of an asshole. And an idiot for not letting _his own son_ or soldiers know you were a Bronze-scale."

"Nearóschrysós, actually. Well, Jaune of the House of Arc...I Pyrrhanikós, Nearóschrysós of the Eastern Sanctum accept your challenge."

Jaune tried to wet his lips and find his voice. "H-How do you wish to set the terms?"

"I...I've actually never been in a duel before. What kind of rituals do humans and Faunus observe?" Pyrrhanikós asked sheepishly.

"I...I haven't either," Jaune admitted. Pyrrhanikós _pouted_ and Jaune started to think that maybe the Dragon was roughly his 'age' by the standards of her kind. "Uh...ladies first?"

"Thank you!" Pyrrhanikós actually sounded legitimately grateful for the courtesy. "You may use the full breadth of your Aura abilities. I am impressed that despite the length of our battle that you retain such deep reserves."

"My what now?" Jaune asked dumfounded.

"Are you mocking me, Jaune of House Arc?" Pyrrhanikós took a step forward.

 _'Danger! Apocalyptic Danger Triggered!'_ The naked panic section of Jaune's mind screeched. "Of course not!" Jaune vocalized quickly. "I would never mock such a beautiful woman! I'm just a conscript from a minor branch of a minor noble house! No one has even sent a petition to the Duke or any other Representative of the King to unlock my Aura!"

"That can't be right. I _saw_ you using your Aura! It was so potent that I could taste it! Jaune of House Arc, what do you believe provided the strength, speed, and stamina to carry your two comrades on your shoulders while retreating from me?" Pyrrhanikós asked. "Second, 'minor' noble house?"

Jaune blinked. Pyrrhanikós' second point was the tersest and least polite tone the Dragon had taken so far. It shook him so greatly that Jaune could barely process the incident before the Nearóschrysós continued.

"Your blade is Crocea Mors! All are aware of the history of that blade!"

"Oh," was all Jaune could add. "What can you tell me about it?"

The Dragon smiled. "I believe I have the terms of our duel. If I am victorious, you will travel with me for a time as I make progress on the mission I have received. Your human nature will prove useful and a great boon in tracking, containing, and hopefully eradicating a... _problem."_

Jaune was fairly certain Pyrrhanikós had caught herself before revealing something incredibly secretive. "I...I can accept those terms."

Honestly, he had little choice. Pyrrhanikós was a _DRAGON_ for Oum's sake! One did not anger a dragon, for humans are crunchy and probably taste great with a nice remoulade.

"What are the conditions of your victory, Jaune of House Arc?" Pyrrhanikós asked formally.

"Well," Jaune started. "You continue your mission outside of the Duchy of Coulee and I...get a few Dragon Scales proving that I 'drove' you away?"

"Reasonable, but may I ask a question about your choice in tone for a moment?"

"Sure," Jaune agreed out of fear of being served with remoulade.

"You sounded...almost reluctant when suggesting that I leave after your hypothetical victory," Pyrrhanikós observed.

Jaune scratched the back of his head. He couldn't deny that his curiosity about Pyrrhanikós was almost supernatural in its intensity. The Dragon was also surprisingly polite and didn't seem to hold a grudge about the whole 'I was in an army trying to kill you' thing.

"I'm curious about you..." Jaune admitted. "Humans only get rumor and hearsay about Dragons. And lo and behold, I'm talking to one."

"Before we begin, what were you told my kind?" Pyrrhanikós asked.

"That you arrived like a thunderbolt and were going to burn the entire frontier before invading the Duchy proper. Duke Cardinalis was adamant that it was only a Lunar Cycle before you arrived to kill us all," Jaune summarized the speech the old, fat Duke gave.

"I..." Pyrrhanikós gaped. "Not all dragons can breathe fire. I'm not even sure how I would _start_ a fire..."

"Rub two sticks together?" The son of the House of Arc suggested.

"Wait," Pyrrhanikós said with a raised hand. "You can _do that?"_

"It's fairly simple, actually. I can show you after the duel," Jaune offered.

The Nearóschrysós clapped her hands happily. "That would be lovely! I can use that to prove to Yangxiaolong that I do in fact have a sense of humor!"

"I'm sure that your sense of humor is amazing," Jaune continued his flattery assault. Again, no sense in angering a Dragon. Especially given that said Dragon was shockingly attractive and polite.

"We can continue this delightful conversation after our duel. How shall we begin?" Pyrrhanikós asked.

Jaune actually wasn't sure and admitted as such. The two rather naïve 'young' people stood in silence. The challenger swallowed. "Uh, are you going to stay in this form? Or in your...previous...one?"

"I believe I will keep this form. My birth form makes communication exceptionally difficult with untrained humans," the hypnotically beautiful Dragon answered. Jaune gulped back a surge of desire as he watched Pyrrhanikós chew on her lower lip.

"That's...fantastic," Jaune agreed.

Pyrrhanikós continued to smile a 'magnetic' grin. "I will be right back! Let me retrieve a weapon!"

That...did not bode well for Jaune. The Arc decided to prepare as best as he could for the coming duel. As he stretched, he wracked his head about using Aura. Aura existed in almost all living things with souls, but it had to be unlocked. Jaune was pretty sure no one had broken into his home and secretly unlocked his Aura.

Jaune's earlier premonition about the duel was quickly and brutally reinforced. His Draconic opponent was happily skipping in his direction. Still naked, but hiding something behind her back. This had two results. One, it displayed her prominent breasts even more prominently. Second, it terrified Jaune. He had no clue what was behind her back.

He was honestly expecting remoulade.

"Jaune of the House of Arc," Pyrrhanikós announced formally. "Are you prepared?"

Recognizing the impromptu ceremony, Jaune saluted with Crocea Mors. "I am prepared Pyrrhanikós, uh, Nearóschrysós of the Eastern Sanctum."

Jaune flinched at the butchering of the true name of a Bronze Scaled Dragon. He hoped Pyrrhanikós wouldn't be offended and decide to throw his metal armored self around like an unwanted toy.

"Then let us begin," Pyrrhanikós announced and produced her weapon from behind her back.

It was a stick.

In fact, it was the pointy stick Jaune had tossed at Pyrrhanikós' Draconic form while shouting "Fetch".

 _'Yup, completely doomed,'_ Jaune confirmed.

Resolved to face his doom with dignity and courage, Jaune took the first move. He charged, shield raised and sword at the ready, aiming to do something completely idiotic. First, he was counting on his opponent to have a basic knowledge of Human/Faunus fighting styles. Second, he was expecting Pyrrhanikós to only have a _basic_ knowledge of Human/Faunus fighting styles. The distinction was pretty much Jaune's only hope of pulling victory out of the dragon's breasts...he meant jaws. Definitely jaws.

To carry out his feint, Jaune immediately dropped into an odd slide aiming at Pyrrhanikós and her ankles. The Dragon was successfully caught off guard by Jaune's gambit. Pyrrhanikós yelped as she was knocked off her feet. Jaune attempted to bring the flat of his blade around to smack his opponent on the shoulder, but something caught him. "OH COME ON!" Jaune shouted as he recognized what had happened. Pyrrhanikós had used her control over metal to stall her fall by 'pushing off' of Jaune's chain-mail armor.

Jaune dropped his sword, ignoring the fact that it was still floating in the air next to him, and grabbed Pyrrhanikós by the arms. He ignored the voice coming from his lower brain complimenting how soft the Dragon's skin was. The conscript bodily tossed Pyrrhanikós away. The Dragon landed with a yelp as she landed on her behind after twisting in midair with hypnotic flexibility and agility. Jaune struggled to his feet and prayed he could get set before Pyrrhanikós recovered.

It was only by a complete miracle that Jaune raised his shield in time to deflect the Pointy Stick. "Fetch!" had been his only warning. It seems that despite what this alleged ' Yangxiaolong' had said, Pyrrhanikós did have a sense of humor. As Jaune lowered his shield, he realized that his beautiful opponent was very very fast. The Dragon had risen to her feet, crossed the distance between them, and was leaping into the air.

"Shit!" Jaune shouted as an insanely powerful kick knocked him back to the ground. The impact on the ground caused him to land with his arms spread wide. A second impact quickly followed. On pure instinct, Jaune's eyes had shut.

"I believe that I am victorious," Pyrrhanikós announced proudly.

"Yeah..." Jaune yielded. The animal part of his mind was focusing on the fact that a physically attractive female was straddling him. "So, now what? I know you have your mission..."

"I do believe some food would be nice...I have some pabulum back in one of the remaining structures. We can eat and rest!"

"You have what?"

After everything that had occurred in this crazy day that was little more than a blur of adrenaline, completely unexplainable arousal, and legendary confusion, there was one thing he hadn't expected to see.

Namely, the frankly unreasonably powerful Pyrrhanikós flush with embarrassment. "Food! D-Don't give me that look! The only humans I am commonly around are the wizards of the Pharus Conclave!"

Once again, Pyrrhanikós pulled the rug out from under Jaune Arc's world. "The _Pharus Conclave_ actually freaking exists? As in, it is a place, group of people, et cetra and not simply a fairy tale told by alchemist-wannabes and by parents to their kids?"

"Oh, the Pharus Conclave is a place, group of people, et cetra and not simply a fairy tale told by alchemist-wannabes and by parents to their kids," Pyrrhanikós parroted with a radiant smile.

Now, it was Jaune's turn to blush...and desperately hope he wasn't sporting the world's most obvious boner...at something his associate had said/done.

"Lead the way..." Jaune said cautiously as a troubling thought entered his mind. _'Is my attraction natural? And if it turns out it isn't...why aren't I freaked out by that thought?'_

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Here's my contribution for the evening! This idea is actually planned out. Some of you may notice that this was one of the poll options after I completed Dirty Laundry. As noted by Warren in the first chapter of this Idea Asylum, if you enjoyed one of these ideas, let us know via reviews!

A few other notes: This fic is inspired more or less by Soulfulbard's woefully underappreciated and absolutely captivating Not Your Saint George and to a lesser extent (as it is a fic about Werewolves not dragons) Once in a Shattered Moon by Solora Goldsun. If you want something Dragon-flavored from Solora, there's always the very fun Wings of Dust. Definitely check those author's out. Both are awesome. Both are also awesome Arkos as well!

Speaking of Arkos, also check out Warren and I's good friend Harmonious Arkos Sloth. He's got a number of great oneshots and his Blame Discord! series of oneshots and prompt responses.

Thanks for all the views, follows, favorites, and most importantly **reviews!**


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